Mercy on Me
by Alliana
Summary: What happen's when Gotham's most elite price and feared vigilante fall's for Gotham's current murderer? Love? Fear? Confusion? Insanity? Betrayel? Anger, hurt, resentment? Or just chaos? Rated T for some language and BxJ slash.
1. Unmasked

It was a cold, rainy night out. It was totally dark, and the Joker had something to say about that. He grinned gleefully, his scars twisting into gruesome shapes as he observed his new creation. Gotham's oldest, and perhaps most prized, building was standing before him, loaded with bombs that were about to go off in, oh... About 45 seconds. And yet, there was still one haunting question within his insanely twisted, corrupt, yet intelligent mind.

_Where was his Bats?_

He huffed, turning around and searching the sky for his most favorite bat in the world, when he felt the air brush against his purple suit and across his narrow shoulders. Grinning again, he whirled around to meet the only one who could give him a _real _challenge- Batman.

Batman stared at the grinning clown before him, shuddering in complete and total revulsion. He was dressed in his usual get-up; purple coat, pants, and of his yellow tie and trademark green hair and facepaint. He was grinning lewdly, and then whirled around and opened his arms to the old, moss-covered college that hadn't been used since 1905.

"I'm _so _glad you came to watch the show, Batsy! Now sit back and relax, 'cause we're about to see a _spec_-tacular show of fireworks," he screeched with gleeful joy. Bruce's eyes widened, and without thouroghly thinking of the consequences, dashed toward the building, positive the Joker had at least one hostage in there.

Joker's grin faded as he saw Batsy running toward the building. Didn't he know it was about to bl-

A loud, ear-deafening, heart-stopping crash resounded ahead of him, and suddenly the Clown Prince was thrown back, smoke squeezing and constricting his lungs as he fell with a _thump _against the brick wall on the other side of the deserted, darkened road. Gasping, choking, and coughing, he struggled to sit up, his only thought of Batman who had been _much _closer to the building than he. He spotted the twisting, smoldering, burning brick of the once grand building, and saw no sight of his Batsy.

Well. Damn it all to hell and back again. He huffed and slowly got to his feet, legs shaking slightly as he threw himself forward, stomach lurching and his head spinning as the flames danced ahead of him. He couldn't _see _his Bats, but he knew he was in there. He ran towards the building and jumped in, the wood creaking and groaning under his weight. Instantly his world was thrown into chaos. Screaming splitting wood assaulted his ears, though all he could hear was ringing. He clapped a hand to his mouth and took a moment to appreciate what he had done, before stepping forwards, intent on finding his Batsy-bat when-

-when he was falling, falling, falling. He crashed onto the floor, atop something hard and cold. He _oomphed _and rolled over, glowering at the basement floor. He looked up. Well. It was about a twenty-foot drop, and there was no way in hell that he was gonna be able to get back up that way. He began looking around for a door when he spotted a oddly shaped black lump only a few feet away. Joker crawled over to it, and then whooped in glee. There was his Bats! He shook him, then pouted when he did nothing but moan. And then he saw the huge wooden beam that had fallen across his legs. Sighing, he spat on his hands and then rubbed them together, intent on pushing the offending object off of his Bats, when a idea occured to him. He would drag it off of him, but only after he saw his face. He smiled. There would be no cops now, no fists, no nothing. Just him, Bats, and the fire above their heads. He turned to the Batman's face and lovingly stroked his face, smiling bigger and bigger. His hand trailed to the edge of the mask, and then under. Curling his hand into a fist, he brought his hand up and with a loud _pop!, _the sweat-covered, dirty face of Batman appeared.

And Joker gasped.

He stared into the face of Gotham's resident playboy and billionaire, Bruce Wayne. Huh. Who knew that the stupid pretty-boy Wayne, owner of Wayne Enterprises and man who was known to have a different bimbo every other week, was also Gotham's resident vigilante and fear-inspiring bat?

Certainly not the Joker. He realized the irony of the situation, and, tilting his green head back, let out a loud, purposefully-feminine, grating chuckle before carefully picking up the discarded mask. Just as he was about to put it back on, his hazel eyes snapped open and he stared straight into his own. He gasped, one hand reaching up to his bare face.

"No," he whispered.

"Yes," the clown whispered back before putting his mask back on and dragging him out of the basement by the side door.

* * *

Bruce Wayne sat in his office, head in his hands as he contemplated what had occured last night. Whenever someone knocked on the door, he expected it to be the cops busting in, the Joker having told them who the Batman was, or even worse, the Clown Prince himself. But it was only his secretary everytime, and after six straight hours of paranoia, he finally decided, with some unease, that the Joker wasn't going to tell and wasn't going to make an appearance, when he walked in.

Bruce shot out of his desk, heart pounding as he thought about his situation. He had _nothing- _only the suit he wore upon his back. No weapons. No mask.

And no damned advil, either!

He wondered if he were to use it on his splitting headache and sore, bruised legs, or if he would throw it at the Joker's painted face and make a run for it.

Well, since his legs were currently shaking and screaming at him in protest for standing so quickly, he doubted he would chuck it at him. Damn, he doubted he'd be able to run past the desk.

He slowly eased himself back onto his seat, fists clenched and never taking his eyes off of the Joker.

"What do you want," he growled, his voice inadvertently switching from Bruce Wayne to Batman.

Joker chuckled as he stared at the man before him. "What do I, uh, _want, _Batsy? Or should I say, uh, _Brucey?"_

He tilted his head to the side and chuckled, staring at him. bruce growled low within his throat like a caged and enraged animal when the Joker slunk over to him. He sat on the desk and crossed his legs.

"Whassa matta, Bats? Scared that a clown uncovered your, uh, secret? Well, ya shouldn't be! I'm not gonna _hurt _ya, Brucey-Bruce! _And _I'm not, uh, gonna tell anyone our little secret. It _is, _after all, between a clown and his pet!"

Bruce snarled, "Its not _our _secret, you deranged psychopath! Now _get the hell out of my office!"_

"Well-uh, that's an _awful _way to treat a guess! _Especially _one who has a media-attention worthy secret of your's!"

"You wouldn't dare tell," he snapped.

Joker shrugged, a smile playing upon his scarred, twisted red lips. He wouldn't, of course, but that was for him to know and Bruce to find out.

"I must say though, Bats, I'm kinda disappointed in mah-self. I mean, c'mon! It shoulda been easy, for a guy like me, to figure out who ya were. But apparently, you're smarter than I gave ya credit for. Ya _surprised _me, Bats! And lemme tell ya something, that's not a easy thing to do! But ya did it! Congrats!" And then, without warning, Joker leaned forward and placed his lips against the other man's. Bruce froze for one second, and then feeling the Joker's lips move against his own, something inside of him, something he didn't even know he had, gave way. He tentatively reached up and ran a hand along Joker's twisted scars, earning a shudder from the Clown. All too soon, he pulled away with a smile on his face and flounced away from his desk and over to the door.

"I'll see ya later, Batsy! Ya can count on that!"

With his remark imprinted in Bruce Wayne's mind, the Joker disappeared, leaving Bruce with a odd sense of foreboding and a even stranger sense of pure, unfiltered excitement.


	2. The Safest Bet, Or The Better One?

A/N: I hope everyone enjoys chapter 2! Some sexual scenes in this one, nothing too graphic however. Some mild language, and of course, slash! I don't own Bruce or Joker, otherwise I would make them do things to each other that would make fan girls around the world scream and melt. J And everyone, please review! Reviews make me happy, and my happiness results in more chapter, in quicker time periods! Read on! J

Bruce hurriedly dried himself off as he stepped into his darkened bedroom. He had just come back home from a night out on the streets, patrolling Gotham. And all the while, he kept a keen eye out for Gotham's resident mass-murderer clown, but there wasn't any sign of him. Jesus, there wasn't a sign of _any _criminal- no mob activity, no robberies, no muggings, nothing.

And that scared Bruce more than his reaction to the Joker's kiss from earlier on, because he knew that someone was up to something somewhere, and he wanted to know what the hell it was.

But for tonight, Batman was gone and in his place was Bruce Wayne.

He finished toweling off and slipped on some boxers, intent on falling asleep, ignoring the Joker's earlier promise and intent on ignoring the Clown's existence.

When light flooded the room.

Bruce shot up, heart pounding in his ears, throat, chest, and wrists as he spied a tall and thin figure leaning against the doorframe. With a giant wave of his arms, Joker gleefully chuckled, "Here I am, Batsy! Jus' like I promised!"

Bruce was about to move, to do what he didn't know- run, tackle the Joker and knock him unconscious, or kiss him, either one-

He froze, not only at the totally inappropriate thought but also at the wicked-looking, gleaming knife the Joker had pulled from within his purple jacket.

"Now, now! Can't have ya runnin' away from me or tryin' to knock me out, now, can we? No, we most certainly can not. So, why don't ya jus' lay back down and get _real _comfy, okay?"

Bruce saw no other way to get out of this increasingly bad situation- not without harming himself in the process. And besides, Joker was spiteful. He might kill Alfred, just because he didn't play by his rules.

_Oh, wait, _Bruce thought sarcastically. _He doesn't _have _rules, remember? Because rules consist of having a plan, and he's notorious for _not _having a plan, or any semblance of a plan. Insane freak._

Said insane freak was smiling at his Batsy. Joker could tell he was having a inner debate with himself, and then he laid down.

_Finally._

Joker slunk forward, coming closer and closer until his knees were but an inch away from the edge of Bruce's bed. He stiffened, hands curling in anger at not being able to defend himself against his sure death. Joker chuckled and dragged the flat side of the blade across his chest, and then down lower.

Bruce gritted his teeth together as he felt the cold, dangerous piece of steel run across his chest, then lower.

_Oh, hell,_ he thought. Surely the Joker wouldn't…?

Apparently he wouldn't, because Joker removed the blade from his skin and pressed the tip on his lower lip. He froze, wondering if Joker was going to cut his face open when the knife was removed, once again. _That bastard is _playing _with me,_ thought Bruce, red coloring his vision as he unthinkingly reached up, intent on grabbing him by the hair and wrestling for the knife when Joker kissed him.

And all thought flew out of his head, and only raw emotion remained as he kissed him back, hands trailing along the Joker's twisted scars like earlier. All Joker felt was a whirlwind of emotions he normally suppressed- lust, tenderness, lo-

_Whoa, there, lets not get ahead of ourselves here, _he thought while snickering in his head. He kissed his Bats back, crawling on top of him, one hand twisting in his hair and the other roaming over his chest, down his stomach, and then lower…

Bruce groaned and bucked his hips as he and Joker thought at the same time, _Oh, boy._

* * *

Bruce groaned aloud as he lifted his head from the pillows, confused beyond all belief and sore. He wondered what happened last ni-

-shit.

No, no, no! That couldn't have happened, Bruce had more control, that didn't happen, oh God, please tell me that was just some twisted, morbid, kink-filled and sexually-frustrated dream!

A pale hand was slung across his waist, and Bruce jumped, staring down at the Joker. He lifted his painted face towards Bruce's. His crazy green hair was stuck to his forehead, and he grinned.

"Well, Brucey, who knew that you were such a lightweight when it came to a charming clown?"

He glared down at him, and before he knew what he was doing he grabbed the Clown and dragged him up and crashed his lips against the other's before releasing him and exhaling shortly. He ran a hand through his messy hair and then glowered at the man who was lazily lounging beside him.

"Listen here. Last night… I have no idea, no idea at _all _if last night was a good idea or not, but… You're a murderer, and I'm, well, supposed to stop you from murdering innocent people. So we can't ever, _ever, _do _that _again! Got me?"

Joker chewed his scars for a while, tapping his fingers and clicking his feet together when a idea came to his mind. He rolled over and smirked at his Bat, seeing him looking all embarrassed and hunched over. He cocked his head to the side.

"So. If I were, to, uh, stop doing what I do best, we'd continue our little fling? Because ya know, _Bats, _you. Complete. Me."

Bruce looked at him in shock, and then laughed outright. Joker stared at him, narrowing his eyes. That wasn't right! Brucey knew a joke, but he, the _Joker, _wasn't in on it?!

What the hell?!

"What," Joker snapped, anger coloring his normally high-pitched and happy tone. Bruce sobered on the outside, though he was laughing on the inside. And Joker could still see the laughter in his hazel eyes, which just made him all the more irate.

"Sorry," he gasped. "Just, the thought of _you, _not killing someone or creating some type of chaos? Impossible. Good idea, and if it had been anyone else, I would've _considered _it. But you? No way in hell."

"Well," Joker purred suddenly. "Why don't we, uh, _bet _on it? I'll give ya today, tonight, and uh, tomorrow to think about it. And if ya agree, then no more killing for the Joker! But if ya don't…" He trailed off in a singsong voice as he suddenly narrowed his eyes.

Bruce stared at the clown, contemplating what he just said. On one hand, he wouldn't kill anyone, leaving Batman's time free in order to catch the other criminals. But on the other hand, the Joker would have free time. Which he would surely spend with Bruce. He wasn't all that comfortable with that…

Or was he?

That sudden thought made Bruce's blood run cold, or hot, he couldn't tell anymore. Everything was a little crazy when the clown was involved. He turned to the clown and gave him the once-over.

"You had better keep your end of the deal, Joker," he said in all seriousness.

Joker rolled his green eyes and raised his right hand over his heart.

"I promise," he said with a smile and a laugh before getting up, getting dressed, and disappearing out the door, leaving Bruce bewildered and quite apprehensive.

He hoped he kept his end of the bargain, for reasons that Bruce was rather content with not exploring at the moment.

* * *

_I am thinking of ways for Alfred to find out, for ALL Batman/Bruce/Joker stories have Alfred finding out in a funny way, a angst way, or however. So, review or message me and tell me of some of the ways you would like Alfred to find out, what chapter, and his reaction! I'll incorporate the best idea into whatever chapter it is! Thanks!_


	3. Giving In

A/N: Well, I got plenty of reviews, so thank everyone who reviewed! BUT, no ideas for poor Alfred! So I'm gonna wait, and if I get no ways by ch. 5, I'm gonna have to think of them on my own. I'm thinking', embarrassing, angsty , a lil' comic relief, and then reluctant acceptance lol.

Bruce stared at the door in a kind mix of shock and… well… shock, plain and simple. There were no other words to describe it. None. He stared at the door for, God only _knew _how long, before he shook himself and dragged his body out of bed, mulling over last night's events. He wondered what he had felt, and why he had not only allowed Joker to do those sinfully wonderful things to his body, but why he had let him do so without even putting up a fight, physically, mentally, or emotionally. Wasn't that what people who were raped did?

Whoa, whoa, whoa. _Rape? _Sure, he hadn't been all that ecstatic at first, but if his moans of pleasure were anything to go by then he figured as soon as the Joker had done that thing with his tongue he had surpassed 'slightly-willing-rape' and gone straight to willing. He wondered about the Joker's bet and why he had gone through with it. Could he trust him? Bruce would trust him as far as he could throw him, which unfortunately seemed pretty far. Despite his height, Bruce had felt all his ribs, and his bones had prodded at him all throughout last night.

He got in the bathroom, and as soon as he saw his reflection, grimaced. He wore a goofy smile on his face, his hair was in a wild disarray around his face, and his chest had long red lines down it. He ran a hand through his hair, then turned to get in the shower when he started. His bathtub was full of Joker cards. They were covering the floor, sprawled out, or in stacks that reminded Bruce of the leaning tower of Pisa.

When the hell had he done this?!

Bruce sighed and started on the task of taking all the Joker cards out, grimacing as he felt that some of them were nothing more than sopping wet pieces of cardboard with creepy smiles.

Once finished, he gratefully got in the shower.

Bruce sighed as he got into the meeting on one of his many businesses fifteen minutes late. Ignoring the slightly disparaging, yet slightly amused look Lucius Fox gave him before returning back to whatever he was saying, effectively drawing all eyes away from him, Bruce slid into a unoccupied chair and thanked heaven that his father had hired the man at the front of the room. He drifted off, lost in his thoughts, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He gazed up at Lucius and smiled.

"So sorry I was late, Lucius," he said in his rumbling baritone, "But last night was kind of… hectic for me."

"It's quite alright, Mr. Wayne," he replied with a smile. "I understand. Next time, however if you _are _going to be late, do me a favor. Don't come in at all, because I will be sure to fill you in, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce smiled guiltily at him, and as the last exec walked out of the room, leaving the two men to their privacy, Bruce sighed and stretched his arms over his head.

"And how, Mr. Wayne, is the new suit coming along?"

"Amazing Lucius. The whole design is much better."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that Mr. Wayne. Mr. Wayne, I'm assuming you heard about the Joker's latest escape from Arkham, and of course the exploded building. Have you heard any news regarding the clown?"

Bruce felt his face flush as he remembered last night's events and this morning's bet, along with his rather odd surprise in the bathtub. He dropped his head and fiddled with his tie, hopefully appearing to be deep in thought. He finally said, "Lucius, besides the building, I haven't heard a thing from the Joker. Not a thing."

Bruce rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck as he walked into Wayne Manor. He had had a long and stressful night of being Gotham's on-the-run vigilante, and he had a rather long and strenuous day at work as well. His friend had known he was lying when he said he hadn't heard a thing, but he wisely decided that then was not a time for such pressing matters and instead decided to let Bruce catch up with his multitude of paperwork he had "forgotten" (neglected, really-who had time for paperwork?) about and then he had a few other meetings. That, combined with tonight (he had apprehended Jonathan Crane, and had almost gotten caught on fire _yet again_, horrid little creature) and the fact that he knew Bruce Wayne had to throw a fundraiser or party or _something _tomorrow in order to keep up appearances, did not make Bruce feel very susceptible to the emotion of _happiness _unless presented with a shower, no work to do, no image to keep up, a crime-free, villain-free Gotham, and a bed. Then Bruce would feel some semblance of happy.

Until then…

He stripped, mind focusing only on _shower tea bed,_ in that order and far from thoughts of the Joker. Until, clad only in his boxers, he stepped into his already well-lit bathroom.

There, in his bathtub, taking a bath, was the Joker.

He was sitting cross-legged in the tub, water lapping just below one vicious looking scar that was just below his left nipple, licking his lips and humming the song _Rubber Ducky _from Sesame Street.

He had three rubber ducks with him, all of them painted with his trademark red smile, blackened eyes, and white faces. Upon seeing Bruce, he grinned, stretching his scars as he licked them.

"Why, hell_ooo_, there! Would you, uh, care to join me? Buh-rucey?" He purred his name, and Bruce swallowed, throat suddenly dry as he stared at the Joker in his bathtub. His hair was still green, curly, and greasy. His face was still painted. It actually appeared as if he had applied more paint to his face. His clothes were littered over the bathroom floor. His pants were by the tub, overcoat half on the floor, half on the toilet. His tie was on the sink, and the rest of his clothes, along with his black shoes, were scattered randomly about the floor. He returned his gaze to the Joker, looking at him expectantly and drumming his fingers on the edge of the tub. He licked his scars again- a quick flick of a pink tongue, so pale, so pale, against the redness of his mouth as yellow teeth flashed at him.

_Say no, say no, say no! You _know _this is wrong, he's a murderer, a psychopath! He _killed _Rachel, the women you loved, your best friend! Killed her…_

He stared at the Joker before finally whispering, "Move over," as he removed his boxers and his will-power as he gave into the Joker.

A/N: Haha! Finally finished it! I am so sorry this took so long, but I was out of internet for, God, _weeks, and had no access to a computer. I finally got it back today, and put the finishing touches on it. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter, and once again, feedback of any kind is appreciated! _


	4. Horny Teenagers

A/N: Dun dun dun!!!! I've decided that Alfred simply must find out in this chapter. I still have no idea as how I'm going to go about it, so I guess I'll just have to wing it and hope for the best. Thank you, all of my amazing reviewers! You are what makes the world go 'round, and what makes me actually write, even if no inspiration comes to mind. So kudos to you all and your amazing reviewer powers! :)

I really hope this chapter is good. I'm tired and kinda depressed (not really), but I just had a Reese's Peanut butter Egg so hopefully it's magical powers will revive me.

It probably won't.

But oh well! On with the story!

Bruce jerked up as he heard a loud crash, and then crazy screaming reverberating throughout the mansion. His immediate thought was _Alfred!_ And then, _Joker! _And then he heard a pair of footsteps pounding up the stairs, and his door was thrown open with a loud crash. Bruce gaped at the sight before him.

Alfred stood there, in his black suit, hair impeccable and neat, a furious scowl on his face. He was holding Joker by his ear. His whole body was stooped, and Bruce could not see his face, but by the way he was twisting and writhing in his butler's iron grip, Bruce could tell he was not a happy clown.

And then he realized that Alfred, _Alfred, _was standing in his doorway, holding _Joker by his ear. _

And yet, his first thought was; _why the _hell _is Joker _naked?

And then he realized Alfred was glaring at him, and it reminded Bruce of a time when he had been a bitter sixteen-year-old and had brought a girl to the house. He had been necking with her when Alfred came in, caught them, and not only drove the girl and Bruce to her house, but made Bruce tell her parents what they had done and made him apologize to both her parents and the girl for disrespecting her.

He didn't really bring anyone home much after that.

And now here he was, only this time he was thirty-six, he was with a man, _and _that man was a painted, murdering psychopath who had killed Rachel Dawes and transformed Harvey Dent into a revenge-driven murderer, as well.

He could do nothing but offer a half-smile at his father-figure and shrug.

"Master Wayne," he began in a tightly-controlled voice, "why was it, that when I came into the kitchen to fix you your breakfast, I see this... _man_... stacking Joker cards into the pantry?"

Bruce stared at him for a moment, stupefied, before he swallowed and shrugged again. His mind couldn't wrap around the idea that Alfred knew. He knew, knew about the Joker and Bruce_, _had to know- a stupid man could figure it out, and Alfred was most definitely not stupid. He swallowed again as he thought about what he would say, and was startled when Alfred threw the Joker away from him, lips curling in what Bruce presumed would be disgust. Joker tumbled to the floor and then shot up again, growling like a wounded, pissed-off animal. His fists curled into fists, but he made no move to attack Alfred. He was breathing rapidly, and Bruce grabbed the sheet and wrapped it around his torso before coming to stand beside Joker.

"Um... well... He know's, Alfred. Known since the explosion, and well..." He trailed off, not sure what to say beyond that. Alfred pursed his lips, eyes roving over the two forms in front of him.

"I see. Well, Master Wayne, please excuse me." With that, he turned on his heel and began to walk out the door.

"Alfred! Where are you going?"

"Well, Master Wayne, I am going to do the one thing you cannot- protect your secret, and I'm going to do so by breaking your one rule in order to protect you."

Bruce paled, and then shot forward, yelling after his butler.

"Alfred! Alfred! You can't!"

"And why can't I, Master Wayne?" Alfred suddenly turned on him, and suddenly it was the British man who looked like a wild animal.

"Have you forgotten, Bruce, that that man _murdered _Rachel Dawes and made Harvey Dent into a monster? Because if you have, I certainly haven't."

"Of course I haven't, Alfred! You _know _I haven't! But... Alfred, I just need... I don't know what I need, Alfred. But surely you can let me figure out what it is, before killing the one chance I might have at finding out what exactly it is I need." Bruce stopped suddenly, wondering if Alfred even understood his ramble. He didn't.

But apparently Alfred did, because he sighed and looked up at Bruce with a long-suffering look, before saying, "All right, Master Wayne. But, I hope for your sake that he is the key to realizing what it is you need. And if he gets my manor dirty, Master Wayne... I shall have to do things to him that were illegal even in my day, do you understand me?"

Bruce sighed, relieved. He smiled at his butler and answered, "Of course, Alfred. I'll make sure he doesn't. And Alfred... Thank you."

"Of course. Now, would you like anything to eat, Master Wayne?"

He was about to answer when he felt a warm hand on his back. he turned to find the Joker, fully dressed and with greasepaint slathered onto his face, standing behind him. Alfred was staring at the Joker with no easily identified emotion on his face.

"I, uh, gotta go, Bats. People to see, stuff to catch up on, jokes to improve." He smiled at Alfred, licking his bottom lip.

"Hey, uh, Alfie, you wouldn't mind gettin' a guy like _me _breakfast, wouldja?"

"Well, I _would, _but I would so hate for you to be late in seeing people, catching up on your 'stuff', improving your jokes... Besides. I'd hate it if arsenic or rat poison accidentally fell into your eggs. This morning, unfortunately, seems like the type of morning that type of _tragic_ accident would fall under, don't you agree? Now, if you'll excuse me, I really must be gone." He turned to Bruce and asked, "Will your _friend_ be here tonight, Master Wayne?"

"Most definitely." He gave Joker a disparaging glance. "He and I have to talk, so he will be here tonight."

Joker rolled green eyes, then waved, turned around and skipped down the hall, calling over his shoulder, "Be sure to set out a extra plate for me, Alfie! Buh-bye Brucey!"

With that, he gave a mad cackle and turned the corner, disappearing. Leaving Bruce to deal with a angry Britain by himself.

_That bastard_, he thought affectionately before turning to face Alfred, yet again. Alfred sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Well, now I know who your late night visitor is."

"What," Bruce squawked.

"Oh, indeed, Master Wayne. I heard you, both last night _and _the night before, but I thought it best not to mention anything."

Bruce honestly did not know what embarrassed him more- the fact that Alfred had heard him and Joker going at it like horny teenagers, or the fact that Alfred knew it was the Joker, or the fact that Alfred had seen the Joker naked.

Probably that one.


	5. If Cujo Was A She

A/N: Wow, I'm just so horrible. Haven't updated in over a month, leaving whatever reader's I still have out there, thinking I'm dead... But I have finals all next week (and its the last day of school! YES!), so I'm gonna be studyin' my ass off, then a week after school I'm going to Illinois for 3 weeks, where I will have no internet access, then when I get home, within 2 weeks I'll be going to The Keys with my family and my friend. So I thought you-all at least deserved this chapter! :) Enjoy.

Joker absently licked a scar, chewing on the built-up tissue that was in his mouth. He was currently staring at a yellow, green, blue, purple, and red (blood from those henchclowns who were to crazy to get his jokes) spattered wall, wondering what he could do with his newly acquired freetime. Murdering Poppy was, of course, outta the question. Poppy was a henchclown who had been staring at a huge picture of Batman that Joker had posted on the wall, above the T.V. It made Joker a little... edgy, but because of his promise to his Baby-Bats, he couldn't use him for target practice, whether it be from knives or a gun. He was really starting to miss all those... _savory _little emotions that came with holding a knife to one's face. But he much preferred the emotions Brucey gave him then the ones he got from seeing people eyeing a knife as he held it in their lips, seeing their fear, cowardice, and their quickness to squeal.

He loved the squealers.

But he also loved making the supposedly-incorruptible Batman squeal under his fingertips and mouth and tongue and cock...

He licked his lip again and looked out the window, taating the slightly bitter, metallic taste of greasepaint as it coated his scarred pink tongue.

Ah, screw it. He could go see what Batsy wanted to talk about right _now_- he was tired of waiting.

And besides, maybe Batsy would take him for a little ride on the Batmobile...

Joker stood on top of Brucey's penthouse, his long, ratty purple overcoat blowing in the breeze. He was twirling a knife in one hand, then abruptly took it and used it to smooth back the sides of his hair, jiggling one foot. He twirled suddenly and paced from one side to the other, glancing about his shoulder, a motion that was pure habit rather than acute paranoia.

Where was his Batsy-boy?

Well, wherever he was, Joker was tired of waiting. He was gonna go see if he could make Brucey's butler crack and kill him. That, he supposed, would be _actual _proof that everyone really was a little...

Chaotic.

But, unfortunately, he doubted Alfie would kill him. Incapitate him, maybe, but probably not kill him. But that was okay if he incapitated him- Joker loved disorder of all kinds, and he had a feeling a scuffle between him and Alfie would be all sorts-a disorder.

That was, after all, why Eris was his favorite outta all those other self-righteous and self-serving bastards.

He skipped over to the door that held the stairwell and, with no ado, opened the door and disappeared, making his way to Brucey's penthouse.

Bruce sighed as he parked the Lamborghini in the parking garage of the apartment building which he not only lived in, but also owned. He had gotten it back from the repair shop from when he had sped in front of the black truck in order to protect that sniveling creep, who Joker had declared a dead man within sixty minutes. Fortunately, he had not suceeded, though Reed had moved to New York and was now working as a stockbroker, if his memory served him. He didn't notice going past the reception area, the people he passed, or anything. He was only thinking on how he shouldn't wince when he walked a keeping that dumb, playboy smile plastered on his face, looking as if the most strenuous activity he ever did was making weekly visits to The Playboy Mansion.

When in fact, one of Falcone's underground men has released a damned dog on him, yet again. This one, however, was not a Rottie, but rather a rabid-looking St. Bernard. He had fondly thought of him as Cujo until Cujo was getting a little too rough with his viscious, gnawing love-nips to one of the rare weak spots in his armor (how that dog found it and kept coming back to that spot, Bruce did _not _know) and he had finally thrown him off of the carport roof, much to the man's horror. And he might've escaped, too, for Bruce was bleeding much too profusely to run had the man not sprinted, screaming and sobbing, to where Cujo had flown the coop, repeating, "Oh, Daisy! Daisy, Daisy, Daisy!"

What the hell kind of name was Daisy?

And how in the hell had that man trusted that beast to find out it was male?

Bruce didn't know, nor did he care. All he wanted was for Alfred to stitch the bite wound up with his excellent hands, get a cup of green, au naturel herbal tea, take a ibuprofen for his throbbing abdomen, splitting headache, and still slightly-sore legs, and go to bed. And if the Joker was thrown in there as well, then it just could've been the perfect night.

Opening the door, he heard the Joker's voice and smirked. He was still honestly surprised that he had not seen him tonight.

Walking further into the penthouse, his headache spiked for a moment, and he grimaced.

And then groaned as he realized that Alfred and Joker were arguing with each other in increasingly high-pitched levels.

He was really going to have to talk to Joker and establish some rules.

The thought of trying to make the Joker obey said rules made Bruce want to cry, and then he wanted to bawl as he realized the only ibuprofen in the apartment was in the kitchen.

Where Alfred and Joker were.

Damn.

A/N: Well, I hoped this chapter lived up to everyone's standards. Oh, and the Eris and all those other, blah blah blah sentence was concerning Eris, the Greek goddess of Chaos and Discord, and the rest of the Olympian gods. I thought she would be a good icon or something for the Joker to reference to.


	6. The Talk

A/N: THIS CHAPTER WILL BE RATED M! IF UNCOMFORTABLE WITH M, PLEASE HIT THE BACK BUTTON! Alright then. I want to get at least one steamy-ish chapter in, but don't yell at me or flame or anything if the sex scene is bad. I am not a guy, so I have never partaken in hot gay-man sex, nor have I seen it. So I will attempt to write it well. This chapter deals with language (lots of it), Joker, Bruce, and Alfred talking, and then the schmex between... well, I'm sure you know who. Thanks to all of my fabulous viewers and reviewers!

Bruce strolled into the kitchen, dragging one hand over and down his face. The first thing he noticed was that both Alfred and Joker had a knife in hand, though neither seemed to have any visible injuries. The second thing was that on the wall, farthest away from the trio, was a picture of Britney Spears, crotch and all, blown up about ten sizes. It had knives in it, litttering the face, body, crotch, and the wall it had been pasted on. It also had numerous bullet holes, and on the countertop Bruce saw three guns.

"Excuse me," he said tiredly, "but why the fuck is Britney's drunken crotch on my damned kitchen wall, covered in knives? And where the fuck is the fuckin' ibuprofen?"

"Buh-rucey," Joker exclaimed suddenly. He then proceeded to throw something at Bruce, which clanged off his chest and clattered to the floor. He looked down. It was a spoon. Where had he gotten a spoon from?

He glared at the clown, then motioned to Alfred. "Mind getting my arm," he asked weakly. Alfred just nodded, jaw clenched, and got out the antiseptic, needle, thread, and bandages. He silently stitched and bandaged the wound. During the whole ordeal, Joker was glaring at Bruce, then Alfred, then his picture. Every once in a while he'd get up and pace, and his tongue was very busy licking those red lips...

Bruce shifted, suddenly aware of the tightening of jeans and cursed his bad fuckin' luck. He glanced to Alfred. Maybe he hadn't seen, or was planning on waiting until later to say, ''I told you so.''

He motioned to the chair beside him, and then said, "The three of us need to talk." They all sat down, and Bruce began.

"Okay, first of all, Joker. You can't bring any... _people _into my damned house or apartment. And you can't touch any knives or electrical appliances or anything I say you're not allowed to. And if you touch Alfred's stuff, he'll just fuckin' rip your arm off. And by all means, you _cannot go into the Batcave! _You understand?"

"Uh, don't, uh, go in the Batcave, and don't touch anything."

"Yeah. Otherwise, you pretty much have free rein of the house."

"Do you believe that is a good ide, Master Wayne?"

"No Alfred I don't, but you can say I told you so later."

"Master Wayne, I was planning on doing so anyway," he answered primly. Bruce couldn't help but smile at his psuedo-father.

"All right. Now that that horrifying ordeal is over, I'm going to go to bed."

"Goodnight Master Wayne," said Alfred and after gathering his things he left the apartment. Bruce sighed and was about to stand when the Joker suddenly threw himself over the table, hands flat on the surface and his torso off the table while his legs rested on it, and kissed him with all he had. He shoved his tongue in Bruce's mouth, and Bruce was assailed with a whirlwind of emotion- lust, pain, shock, lust. He kissed him back fervently, running his hands along the Joker's greasy green hair. He then ran them down his back and he cupped his ass, then, feet firmly planted on the floor, shoved his chair back a foot, dragging Joker with him. He now straddled Bruce's lap, and he leaned back and bit his bottom lip hard, drawing blood, before slipping it into his mouth and sucking hard. Bruce grunted from the pain as it quickly turned into pleasure, and he shoved the Joker off of him. He landed on his back and burst into laughter, rolling onto his side. Bruce got atop him, then, and straddled him. He grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head, on the floor, and leaned down to his neck. He licked the dip there, then ran his tongue up to his scarred cheeks and lips. He sucked on the shorter scar, on the right, side, laying all of his weight on the slightly taller, though slighter, man. He reared up and, releasing his wrists, pulled his shirt over his head. Joker laughed (ha ha hee oh-ha. That sound would forever be engraved in Bruce's memory) and scrambled up as well and darted away. Bruce narrowed his eyes, stalking him like a cheetah stalked an antelope. He found him in his bedroom, clothes strewn all over the place, naked as a baby. He was laying on his bed, legs hanging off the edge. He looked up and purred, "Come get me, Batsy."

Bruce smirked, then strode forward and jumped on top of him. He chuckled again, only this time was silenced by Bruce's mouth on his own. Joker responded eargerly, erection firm and hot against Bruce's thigh, and he reached down and grasped it at the base. His hips jerked up, brushing Bruce's own arousal, and Bruce growled low in his throat as list tightened in his stomach, like a coiling snake laying in the grass waiting for that little brown mouse to get close. He leaned down then, releasing Joker's tempting mouth, and then, without warning, licked Joker's cock, from base to tip.

"Ooh, Bats! You're getting- ungh- better at that!"

"You really need to shut up," Bruce growled.

"Well, then, I guess you're just gonna have to, uh, _make _me!" Bruce chose that moment to slip his head into his hot and waiting mouth. Joker gasped, his hips arching. Bruce shoved him back down, slowly sliding his mouth downwards. He then quickly slid up, then down again slowly. Joker was panting above him, hands burrowed into Bruce's hair. He then gave a sharp, short yank, and Bruce let go with a loud pop and looked up at him expectantly. Joker hissed through clenched, yellowed teeth; "Now."

He dragged a finger around the head, then down to his entrance. He glanced up again.

"Now," he whispered huskily. "Are you sure? Do you want me to stop?"

"You stop," Joker growled, his voice lowering a few octaves. "And I'll rip your dick off and make you eat it. Now!"

"Well then, in that case," Bruce said smoothly before getting up. He walked, got the half-empty bottle of lube and a unopened condom and walked back over to the bed. Sometimes it was Joker who "topped" and sometimes it was Bruce who did. They really didn't have a pattern- Joker was always sprouting off about how they were evenly matched in fighting and everything thay did, and how one was even with the other, and it should be that way with they played Lewis and Clark and explored each other between the sheets. So, sometimes Bruce was domiant and sometimes Joker was.

Bruce _still _didn't like to think that one was even with the other and all of that all bullshit Joker often spewed. Fuck, he still shuddered when the words "lover," Bruce," Joker", and "Batman" were strung together in a sentence. He liked to tell himself that what they had was purely physical, and most of the time he convinced himself of that.

But you can't always lie to yourself and expect to believe it.

He rolled the condom on, poured lube on his finger. Joker shook his head, and he sighed, wishing the Joker would at least _once _allow him to prepare him before he fucked him senseless. Joker always refused, however, with a chuckle and a adamant, "Nope, I, uh, like the pain. Keep's me on my toes."

So he poured lube on the condom instead and positioned himself above his entrance. He clutched his hips, and Joker moved his knees aside. He dove in, and gasped at the increasingly-familiar tightness and heat. He began to move, and his world narrowed down to his need and the Joker. Joker met him, thrust for thrust, and Bruce couldn't help but grunt.

Joker ran his long, long nails down Brucey's back and urged him to go harder and faster.

So he decided to tell him, by rearing up and clamping his decaying teeth onto Bruce's ear lobe. "Harder," he hissed. "Faster, Brucey, I _know _ya can do it!"

Bruce goraned and began to pound him- not move, but _pound_. Joker let go, throwing his head back. "Argh, fuck, Brucey! Faster! Fas_ter_!" His voice went to a high-pitched squel when Bruce hit _that _spot, and Joker growled and began to meet him, thrust for thrust.

"Oh, God, fuck yes, Joker, ungh," Bruce moaned as he felt himself nearing.

"Mm, so responsive tonight, Brucey," Joker moaned into his ear. "Shut up, Joker," Bruce hissed back and grabbed the Joker's own cock. Liquid ws beginning to leak from the tip, and he gathered it with his thumb and brought it to Joker's lips. He sucked the whole digit into his mouth and sucked, swirling his tongue over the pad of Bruce's thumb. Bruce moaned, removing his hand and returning it to Joker's cock. He would've kept it there, but his other hand was clutching his hip for support and balance and it needed to stay there, and Joker's cock needed some...

_Attention._

He rubbed it, starting from base, all the way up to his still-leaking head. He slowly, but firmly, began to stroke him, and then he went faster and harder, more in time with his strokes. Both he and Joker were panting and sweating now, and both were close. Joker, however, was apparently closer and, with a loud shout, came on Bruce's hand and stomach.

The clenching of his muscles drove Bruce over the edge, and with a low, long moan, came as well. He laid atop Joker a bit, then rolled off and cleaned himself with a damp rag, and then Joker. He looked at him and saw sweat rolling off his body in rivulets, and he used the rag to softly clean the makeup away. As soon as he finished, Joker reached up and punched him, square in the face.

Bruce moaned in pain as blood squirted from his bloody nose, and then Joker punched him again and he slumped forward. Joker considered that an accomplishment, being able to catch Batsy unaware enough to get not one, but _two,_ in. He slathered more makeup on his face, put two times the amount he normally put. He sat on the floor, still naked, by Brucey's bed and began to play with his favorite knife.

Not even Batsy could see him with no makeup.

A/N: Hope I didn't totally murder that sex scene! I tried, I really did... I even read slashy PWP fics on here to get it right! Well, I do that sometimes anyway, but oh well. I hope everybody enjoyed this chapter. Also, I have a request to ask our drawers out there. Would anyone be interested in drawing a picture of Joker kissing Bruce while laying on the table or something? I just thought that'd be cool to see, and I can't draw worth a damn. Pm me, and I'll give you my e-mail! Thanks, and review so I know how I'm doin' n' such!


	7. Colorful, Ugly Games

**A/N: Hey guys. Sorry I haven't posted anything recently, but I've been mega-busy with school, and practice, and such. But I've finally remembered to update! Yay! Any who, I hope everyone enjoys this new chapter, and please forgive me for any mistakes. I notice I made quite a few in previous chapters, and that kinda stuff really pisses me off. I'm really OCD about it. :) So, please read and review, and if you do feel the need to flame me, at least make it intelligent and have an actual idea and argument on why you didn't like it, else you will just be laughed at and talked about in the next chapter! :D**

**Warning: Some language**

**Enjoy!**

When Bruce came to, the first thing he noticed was that his nose and mouth hurt like a son of a. The second thing he realized, was that he was still lying naked in his bed, with the now dry cloth on his face. And the third thing he groggily put together was that that damned hacked-up _murdering clown _had punched him in the nose. His pride and ego hurt more than the actual aftermath he was feeling now, but not by much. He reached up and dragged the material off of his face and slowly sat up, his head and his arm pounding. He looked at the cloth-covered appendage, and upon finding no signs of blood, make-up, on infection, Bruce decided to fuck it and leave it the hell alone. He wearily got up, his headache worsening from the movement, and glanced around the room. There was no sign of _IT _anywhere- no clothes scattered here and there, no dirty fingerprints on the walls (he really needed to clean the ones the Joker had left before up), no smeared make-up on the wall (he needed to get that off, too), and, most importantly, no Joker.

Bruce had the odd premonition that something bad was going to happen...

He sighed then, muttered, "Fool," and pulled some clothes on. He shuffled to the kitchen, intent on making a protein shake, when he stopped dead and looked back at the long hallway. And then at the kitchen. And back again. He had colored the walls.

He had _fucking colored on the walls._

The hallway was a mess of loud, intense, almost _blinding _color- a wide array of vibrant blues, angry reds, obnoxious yellows, rotted greens, dirty browns, and dizzying purple. Oh, dear God, the purple...

It was like a hideous, dirty rainbow had exploded in the hallway, marking the walls, saying _I was here, and I fucked your shit up. _It was... It was...

It was like Crayola fucking gang-raped his hall!

Beyond furious, he strode into the kitchen, his face a harsh mask of annoyance, a scowl placed upon his lips. He was going to have to be the one who cleaned that up- there was no way in hell that he was going to make Alfred clean that up.

_This is all _IT_'s fault, _he seethed, even as that little voice in the back of his head insisted it was no one's fault but his own. And Bruce knew it was the truth- after all, _he _was the one who attempted to clean the Joker's face off.

He just didn't want to admit that he was at fault here.

And besides, wasn't massacring his hall a little _too _much?

Which was exactly why he wasn't really surprised that he did this. After all, he was known for going overboard in whatever it was he did.

Bruce still didn't know why he put up with this- this... physical _thing _between them. But it was too late for him to back out. Not only was he afraid of what he would do to Gotham in a fit of rage, but there was also Alfred to consider. Granted, Alfred had been in the war, and was good at shooting, and was willing to cross that one line- but Bruce knew he stood no chance if Joker was in a full-fledged rage. And besides, he didn't want to think of what would happen to him if Alfred did somehow manage to succeed in crossing the line...

Once again, Bruce's thoughts were turned on to why the Joker did what he did. Was it really because of what Alfred had said, so many months before? Did the Joker really just want to see the world...

Burn?

Or did it run deeper than that seemingly born-and-bred desire? It obviously had something to do with his past- any idiot could see that, what with the scars and just general, all-around insanity. But what had caused him to get those scars? What influenced him to choose the moniker 'Joker?' Bruce sighed and shook his head, clearing off those thoughts. It was clear that he would allow no one but himself to be privy to those thoughts and memories, and that was okay with Bruce. He didn't want to know what- or who- had caused the Joker to become this way. Just the mere thought of actually knowing what had caused him to be the way he was sent a tendril of black, suffocating fear around his heart, squeezing it.

Bruce shook his head in a attempt to ward off those thoughts, focusing only on cleaning his newly fucked-up wall. After pulling out something called 'Goo Gone' that was supposedly specifically for crayon, he pulled out a rag, read the directions, and got started.

Halfway through the grueling process of wiping, re-wiping, soaping, and then washing, Bruce felt a presence behind him. Turning around, he immediately went into a fighting stance, letting instinct take over, when he saw it was Alfred. Alfred had a inscrutable expression on his face, lips pursed, and then he glanced at Bruce. He hesitantly held up the rag and cleaner, and muttered, "I know, I know. _Technically_," and it pained him to say this, "I'm the one who's, uh... at fault here. I'm cleaning it however, and I'll do so until it's gone. You needn't lift a finger," he said quickly. And then he noticed Alfred's hands. They were stained with bright, blooming patches of color, making it look like an assortment of skittle colored bruises. Alfred caught his glance and looked down at his own hands.

"He got the Lamborghini as well, Mr. Wayne," Alfred said disparagingly. eyes narrowed. Bruce could offer nothing more than a sheepish smile and shrug, and then turned back to his work, leaving Alfred alone to do his own devices, not wanting to anger the man even more.

_He was going to fucking kill that clown._

**Two Hours Later**

Bruce sighed and sat back on his knees, looking and critiquing his work. You could only see faint, faint shadows of color there, so faint they looked like apparitions made by an opened window on a clear, sunny day. Pleased, he heaved himself to his feet, intent on eating, showering, and going to the office. He really was getting too old for this shit, but somebody had to do it. However, as soon as he got to the shower, he groaned and narrowed his eyes. There was _IT _in all of _IT_'s undignified and marked glory. He sat on the floor, tapping his foot to some unknown rythym and using the flat edges of his knife to smooth the sides of his hair. His hands, oh dear Lord his hands... They were covered in blood.

Lunging forward, he grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and dragged him up, growling in the gravelly voice Batman was renowned for; "What do you think you're doing, Joker? First you paint my walls, then go out and kill someone?"

He let out a screeching laugh that sent a tingle to Batman's groin.

"Oh Bats," he said excitedly, "you sure do know how to make a guy like me laugh! Why, your walls were just for a little bit of _pizz-az_! Your, uh, _humble abo-duh_," he purposefully made the last syllable pop, drawing Bruce's gaze down to the hacked lips. "Needs a little color," he finished gleefully.

"And my car," he snapped, irritation coloring his voice. Joker just shrugged and replied, "What can I say? And uh, by the way, Buh-rucey," he licked his lips, leaning his head forward and bringing a hand up and waving it around in an almost disinterested way, "I, uh, didn't kill anyone." He opened his mouth, bringing that poisonous tongue out again and licking his lips. He opened his mouth and swallowed, making a sort of popping sound when doing so.

"Yet."

He threw his head back and laughed happily, his whole body shaking before facing Bruce again, eyes squinted and dancing with an insane sort of merriment. His mouth was opened wide, showing Bruce his yellowed, decaying teeth.

Bruce growled at him, any and all plans about eating and showering forgotten.

He crushed his lips to the Joker's and swallowed that laugh.

Bruce lay in bed, panting and breathing heavy as Joker lay beside him, tapping his fingers on the sheets, silent giggles racking his body even as his eyes roamed the room, stopping here and there to rest on minute details before going to another place. Bruce's legs hurt a bit, from wrapping them around Joker's neck and hooking them at the ankle, Joker's favorite position for whenever he fucked him, but he ignored the ache. It was the sort of ache that made you feel good, made you feel alive, and yet grounded. He took a deep breath and shakily sat up, glowering at Joker.

"Y'know," he started off conversationally, "you didn't have to fucking punch me in the _face_."

He waved his hands lazily and offered him a nasty grin. "Well, uh, if we're playing the Blame Game, Bats, then _you _shouldn't have wiped _my _face off. Had, uh, _you _not done _that_, then you wouldn't have gotten punched. Duh," he added, in the same tone he had said to Gambol when they were attempting to deal with Lau, as if the one asking the question should've known. He said _duh _the same way know- as if Bruce should've innately known that. Bruce glared at him, and snapped, "Well, if you weren't so damned picky about me seeing your face, then I wouldn't have had the curiousity to see your face," he snapped, irate.

"Curiousity got the cat killed, Brucey, didn't they uh, teach you that in kindie-garten," Joker hissed back, dark brown eyes alight with a nasty look in them. But Bruce was not to be deterred.

"Well, then I guess it's good I'm not a cat then, huh," he snapped right back.

"No, you're a _bat_!" Joker screeched, before bursting into peals of laughter. Bruce could say nothing to this, and as soon as it started it ended. He swept up from the bed and dressed quickly, shooting sly glances glances at Bruce while he just stared at Joker, an unidentifiable look on his face. As soon as he was done, he tore the window open and bounded over to the bed. He gave Bruce one last, lingering kiss that made Bruce's heart spead up and heat to pool between his legs, and then Joker licked a path up to his ear and whispered, "Oh, and uh, by the way, Bats- you lost the game." He howled in laughter, running towards the window. However, just before he climbed out of it and to down the fire escape, he turned to Bruce again.

"So, I, uh, guess while curiousity got the cat, crayons got the bat..." He trailed off and grinned.

And then disappeared into the night.

Bruce sighed and shoved himself off the bed, going to the closet to drag out a suit for tomorrow before going out tonight as Gotham's resident vigilante. He opened the walk-in closet, froze, and then cursed.

The closet was devoid of any suits, ties, socks, boxers, and shoes. Joker had fucking hidden them, and in their place was...

He sighed again and cursed.

In their place was boxes of twenty-four Crayola crayons.

**Haha, hope everyone enjoyed that! I hope it did justice. Also, the reason I kept referring to Joker as **_IT _**in the way that I was was in regard to Stephen King's **_"IT". _**I thought Joker really embodied Pennywise, the clown that preyed on small children and occasionally adults. I don't own the name or idea, just using it in my story. In fact, I own nothing in this story 'cept for my 'magination, so no suing! Hope everyone enjoyed, and please R & R!**


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